After the launching space-flight was normally a monotonous routine.
The course was charted by automatic navigators and the vast pattern of
interlocking machinery and safety devices was electronically
controlled by robot relays from the pilot master-panel. The chief
function of a trained space-pilot, aside from his services as a
diplomat, was to handle emergency situations for which automatic
responses could not be built into the machinery.
Dirrul, however, could not depend a great deal upon the robot devices.
He had to avoid the well-traveled and well-charted commercial
space-lanes. He had to be constantly on the alert for the telltale
white of a police cruiser. A cargo carrier was the slowest ship in the
universe--Dirrul could outrun nothing, not even a playboy's sport
jalopy, and inspection by the customs police would have been
disastrous.
He followed a roundabout route, keeping as far from inhabited planets
as he could, and he made good time. In ninety-five days he had reached
the mythical border in space, which divided the territory of the
Planetary Union and the Vininese Confederacy.
He was almost at midpoint in the galaxy. On the glazed screen of his
space-map the mirrored pinpricks of sun systems glittered like
microscopic gems scattered over the curve of a gigantic black saucer.
Dirrul had never been so far from Agron. He felt a stifling sense of
insignificance.
The meaning of time as he understood it was somehow overwhelmed by the
immensity of space. Now and yesterday, today and tomorrow, became a
single unity. Dirrul had a new sense of the past in terms of the
present. His mind groped for word symbols that he understood which
could crystalize the shadowy new concept filling his mind.
New understanding seemed to arise from the space-map. Somewhere among
the glowing points of light was the Place of the Beginning, a single
planet called Earth. In the far-distant past Earthmen had made
themselves rational beings. But for centuries thereafter they had made
no further progress, apparently appalled by the audacity of such
presumptive evolution. They had fought through a long primitive period
of violence, erecting system on system and philosophy upon philosophy
to conceal, destroy and wipe out their own biological machinery.
Then out of a final orgy of death and terror the Earthmen had grasped
the meaning and the responsibility of the Rational Potential. They had
understood the reality of being.
Within a century after that they had conquered space. They had found
peoples like themselves occasionally--but more often races that had
followed different biological adaptations to different environments.
Wherever there seemed to be a spark of primitive rationality the
Earthmen had stayed and patiently taught the Rational Potential of
being, which they had learned for themselves only after such
bloodshed.
The galaxy was theirs, in a sense, for it thought in the patterns of
Earthmen, although long ago their direct influence had waned. They
were a legend and an ideal, lost in the vastness of space, yet bound
fast into the cultures of all peoples.
Yet somewhere the Earthmen must have failed, somewhere there must have
been a flaw in their teaching. Fifty years earlier, as the Agronians
measured time, the galaxy had been torn apart by war. The Agronians
had led one group of planets, the Vininese another. Planet after
planet was seared by deadly new weapons--world after world died in the
orange flame of gaudy atomic disintegration. Slowly the power of Vinin
crept across the sky until the Vininese ruled half the galaxy.
Their first defeat had come unexpectedly. Their great space-armada
swung in on Agron, while the people crowded in terror in their flimsy
raid shelters. But the Vininese ships had vanished high in the air.
Not even debris had fallen on the planet.
It was the first use of the Nuclear Beams. Dirrul had been a schoolboy
when the Agronian scientists announced their discovery. He remembered
the exciting thrill of pride, recalled how he and his schoolmates had
dreamed of destroying the Vininese with the new weapon.
He remembered too the galling bitterness he had felt when the
scientists announced that they had made peace instead.
They had had sound reasons, of course. They said the Beams had a
limited value. They could be used only defensively to girdle a single
planet in the stratospheric level of its atmosphere. Elsewhere they
were harmless. To compound the spectacular timidity, the scientists
had given away the secret to all comers, including the Vininese. They
had an argument for that particular idiocy too--if each planet could
protect itself so easily from all external attack its people could
freely decide for themselves their galactic allegiance or maintain
isolated independence.
The Planetary Union had been formed and members of the Vininese
Confederacy invited to join it. Not a people anywhere in the
Confederacy made even tentative exploration of the offer while five
sun systems of the Union later joined the Vininese. That was the fact
that had ultimately prodded Dirrul into joining the Movement.
Later, when he read the pamphlets brought from Vinin, he had clarified
his purposes. On the one hand lay the waste, the confusion, the
uncertainty of Agron. Scientists who talked forever of hypotheses and
were afraid to stand firm for any absolute truths--moralists who
qualified even the simplest standards of right and wrong--philosophers
who glorified a condition of eternal chaos which they called an open
mind.
On the other hand lay the clean efficiency of Vinin. Scientific
certainty, and the progress that stemmed from it--the Space-dragon
instead of the Safe-sweet candy, a clear social organization in which
the individual was directed by established and inflexible principles.
The whole of it was history as Dirrul had learned it, the chronology
of the past. As he looked on the star map of the galaxy, at midpoint
between the two great unions of planets, the meaning of the past began
to change. The chronology fell into a new perspective.
Against the vast expanse of space time twisted into a new
relationship. Time and space began to equate with an exciting
synonymity. History was not the past, dead and numbered--history was
now. All things, all space, all time, were forever fixed at the
instant of now.
In Dirrul's mind a tumult of facts trembled on the verge of a
startling new order--the atomic structure of all energy and the black
saucer of the galaxy. The violent spasms the Earthmen had suffered
before they found the Rational Potential and the devastation of the
Galactic War.
But before he could assess such new values and verbalize the new
generalization the antiquated warning system of his ship twanged
tinnily. On the control panel screen he saw the trim outline of a
white Agronian police ship. A moment later the voice came over the
speaker, ordering him to state his permit registry and his
destination.
Dragged so suddenly back to reality, Dirrul reacted in panic. It was a
routine inquiry. He might have bluffed his way clear. Instead he put
the cargo ship at top speed toward Vinin and watched helplessly while
the patrol cruiser closed relentlessly in.
"Stand for search!" the voice commanded.
When he did nothing the police shot a warning rocket over his bow. A
second shot struck the rear of the cargo ship and tore away a section
of landing gear. Swearing, Dirrul tried to maneuver out of range, and
to a certain extent he was successful. But piloting skill could not
make up for the cumbersome bulk of his unarmed ship. Two more blasts
hit him, collapsing the forward compartment and knocking out one power
tube.
At the point of triumph, however, the police patrol turned away and
left Dirrul limping alone in space. For a moment he was puzzled. In
another ten minutes they could have boarded the cargo carrier and made
him prisoner. But he understood when he glanced again at the star
map--the Agronian police had pursued him far into Vininese territory.
If Vininese patrols had found them there it might have created an
unpleasant intergalactic incident.
Dirrul made a quick survey of the damage. He had only one power tube
intact--beyond that, the cargo carrier was wrecked and he had on board
nothing with which to make repairs. He could move ahead only at
quarter-speed.
Sorgel had put a time limit of one hundred days on the trip to Vinin.
Headquarters had to know by then of the Plan on Agron. Dirrul had five
days left and as the hours ran out he was still grinding slowly toward
the outer atmosphere of Vinin. Quite aware that proper security
demanded the message be delivered in person, Dirrul nonetheless faced
the alternative of losing everything if he waited.
Logically weighing all factors, he concluded he would not be risking
too much, considering the stakes, if he used the teleray. Agron
monitors could pick it up, of course, and no doubt the outpost
stations were instructed to record all messages emanating from within
the territory of Vinin. But Dirrul knew the Air-Command.
They wallowed in the same luxury and comfort enjoyed by the rest of
the Planetary Union. Outposts personnel, so far from the capital,
would be even less likely to take their duties seriously than Dirrul's
own unit.
He tried to make the information enigmatic to the curious and at least
suggestive to the Vininese. He used the landing Wave-code 373. The
small red light on the control panel glowed and he knew he had
established contact. In carefully chosen Vininese he spoke into the
teleray mouthpiece.
"Sorgel requires help for Glenna-Hurd Plan. Exactly fifty days, their
time."
He repeated the message. As an afterthought he gave his own position
and asked for emergency repair assistance. The whole meaning hinged
upon the names of Glenna and Hurd. However, since they had been taken
to Vinin, they should already have outlined the Plan to the Vininese
command. If there were any doubts Headquarters could teleray for
clarification. When his speaker remained silent Dirrul assumed he had
been understood.
He began to feel the pull of Vininese gravity, found himself in
trouble with his ship. He tried to keep the disabled cargo carrier
relatively stationary, so that the Vininese repair ships could locate
him. With only one power tube, however, maneuver was impossible. The
battered ship plunged out of control toward the planet.
For an hour Dirrul fought with all the skill he knew. A thousand feet
above the surface he managed to force the ship to level off
temporarily. He had no time to seek a proper landing area and in any
case his gear had been shot away.
There was a wide flat plain directly below him, in the distance the
towering mass of a large city silhouetted against a range of
mountains. Dirrul headed his ship for the open fields, setting the
safety devices for a crash landing.
He hung around his neck the identification disk Sorgel had given him,
tucking it beneath his tunic. If he were hurt in the landing, a
Vininese might find him, and the disk would indicate that he was
important enough to be taken to the Headquarters Command. If his
teleray hadn't been understood there might still be a chance for him
to make his report in person.
The ship crashed against the hard ground. Dirrul felt a wrenching pain
as the automatic safety arms pinioned him fast to cushion the fall,
before hurling him free of the blazing control room. After that he
lost consciousness.
V
When Dirrul opened his eyes it was after dark but the triple moons of
Vinin were full and the landscape glowed with a yellowish light. He
had fallen into a ditch which ran beside a narrow, green-paved road.
In the distance, hidden in a dense copse of blue tree-like
vegetation, he saw the fragments of his wrecked ship. The purple grass
of Vinin spread richly all around him, damp and warm. At the bottom of
the ditch a reddish trickle of liquid washed over his feet.
His throat ached with thirst. His tongue clung like sand to the roof
of his mouth. He knew that an Agronian could live in the Vininese
atmosphere but he was uncertain whether his body could assimilate the
native liquids. Yet to ease the torture he dipped his hand into the
red fluid and rubbed a few drops over his lips. The sting of salt
increased his torment.
His body shuddered with pain as he pulled himself to his feet. He
crept a few feet along the green highway, and slowly his will mastered
his strength so that he could walk erect. He began to orient himself a
little. On the horizon he saw the skyline of the city he had observed
from the air and he knew he was following the road in the right
direction.
But the distance was greater than he had estimated. He walked for an
hour and the city still seemed no closer. Nor had he seen any sign of
habitation where he might go for help, nothing except the towering
endless yellow stone wall which he had been following for more than
half an hour. There was neither gate nor break in the stone. Atop the
wall regularly spaced brackets held three naked wires in place.
The wall probably guarded the estate of a Vininese official, he
decided. In that case the wires were either a warning device or a
charged trap against thieves. Dirrul was puzzled by the obvious
deduction. Such things were necessary on Agron to protect important
installations like the Beam Transmitters--but he had hardly expected
there would be a need for them on Vinin. Yet when he considered it
objectively, why not? Every system of society, no matter how ideal,
would produce inevitable malcontents--there were fools among the
Vininese, as there were among other peoples.
Dirrul saw a towering gate in the wall and ran ahead eagerly, only to
fall in disappointment against the thick metal grille. The gate was
locked by a concealed device he could not locate. At a considerable
distance inside the wall was a second, higher than the first. Dirrul
saw a faint light at the inner gate and assumed there was a guard of
some sort stationed there. He tried with all his strength to cry out
for help but his throat was dust-dry. He could utter only a faint
whisper.
When he tried to go on he was overcome with exhaustion. He staggered a
few feet beyond the gate and collapsed into the ditch. He lay face
down in the warm purple grass, his swollen tongue hanging limply from
his mouth. Imperceptibly the thirst began to diminish. After a
moment's speculation Dirrul understood why and crushed a handful of
the purple grass against his lips. It was warm and sweet--a comforting
liquid began to flow down his throat. He plunged his head luxuriously
into a thick mass of the weed, breathing deeply the sweet odor of the
crushed blades.
A silent grey vehicle darted along the green road and jerked to a stop
in front of the gate. It came so quickly Dirrul had no time to call
out. The Vininese driver stood up and bawled orders at the inner gate.
A faint voice replied. The driver shouted again. The gate swung open
and the vehicle moved inside.
Bewildered, Dirrul sat up, his head reeling. He understood a little
Vininese, not enough to translate exactly what had been said but
enough to make out a tantalizing half-meaning. The driver was
searching all the work camps, he had said, for the Agronian girl,
Glenna. He wanted to check something or other to see if she were here.
Work camp? Dirrul decided he must have got the word wrong. Glenna and
Hurd might still be in hospitals but if they had recovered they would
be honored citizens of Vinin. Still--what sort of hospital would have
both double walls and alarm wires?
Only an asylum for hopeless mental cases! The realization made Dirrul
cold with a terrible fear. Glenna--hopelessly insane!
To save the Movement it was vital for Dirrul to make his report
immediately. What help could the Vininese get from a madwoman? He
sprang up and ran dizzily to the gate. Before he could shout for the
guard shadowy figures rose up around him, silently closing great hairy
hands over his mouth and dragging him back across the road.
Tied and gagged Dirrul watched while the black-robed creatures worked
stealthily at the central bars of the gate with tiny blue-flaming
torches. Beneath their flowing capes they were beings like himself,
which indicated that they were either Agronian or Vininese, for by the
perverse chance of biological adaptation the people of the two planets
were so structurally similar that even intermarriage was possible. One
by one they cut out the bars until the span in the gate was wide
enough for them to work their way through.
For a moment the band stood in the road, apparently talking. At least
their lips moved and their hands fluttered expressively but Dirrul
heard no sound. Reaching a decision they went through the gate in
single file, carrying long vicious weapons with them. Two of the
black-caped men came and stood guard on either side of Dirrul.
Whatever these vandals were doing they were working in stealth and
fear and Dirrul realized their aim must be illegal. He fought to break
free of his bonds so that he might warn the loyal Vininese garrison.
The two guards shoved him back roughly. One of them grabbed Dirrul's
tunic in a claw grip and the cloth tore open, revealing Sorgel's
identification disk.
Both guards bent over him, fingering the disk, talking soundlessly
with their facile fingers. Suddenly they jerked the disk off, snapping
the chain. At the same moment a rolling explosion from within the
wall shook the earth.
Dirrul heard a great noise and a terrifying fear filled his mind. It
was a steady undiminishing fear that gripped every muscle of his body.
His throat was ice-cold. His heart pounded and gasped for breath.
Every nerve-end in his body quivered and his imagination was swamped
with a flood of shattering ephemeral horrors.
Nothing could shake off the terror. Dirrul's skill with reason and
logic failed him. It was impossible to organize his thinking to combat
the sensory shock waves disrupting his thoughts. Logical patterns made
no sense. The very process of trying to build meaning into them--the
process of thinking itself--left him weak and trembling.
The guards watched his terror for a moment, watched while he clung
close to the ground, trying to dig his fingers into it. Then one of
them laughed--a piercing discordant shriek, shrilling louder than the
din behind the wall. The second man, snarling viciously, kicked Dirrul
in the ribs.
For Dirrul the blaze of pain was almost a relief. As his body
responded to it on a level of instinct, the chattering terror in his
mind diminished. A second blow on the head sent him reeling close to
the brink of unconsciousness. His perceptive reactions went slightly
out of focus.
In a wavering mist he saw the black figures emerge from the gate,
dragging a dozen or more captives with them. A second explosion rocked
the earth and flames leaped high behind the yellow wall. In the glare
Dirrul recognized Glenna, struggling frantically in the arms of her
masked captor.
Dirrul's memory after that was a vague patchwork of unrelated
episodes. He saw huge saddled reptilian bipeds dragged out of the
concealing brush. The captives were bound in the saddles and the
black-robed figures mounted behind them. Later two of the men pulled
Dirrul up and tied him across a saddle too.
At a sickening gallop the caravan moved away from the green highway,
striking out over the purple plain. For a while Dirrul lost rational
control of sensation. He felt but without understanding. His brain
pulsed in a continuous terror that seemed to resolve itself into
sound--a continuous high-pitched scream coming from within his own
mind. His body throbbed with pain and nausea wrenched emptily at the
muscles of his stomach. But he could not sort out the feelings,
classify them or adjust to them.
At the edge of the plain the caravan turned up a steep rocky trail
which led into the ragged range of mountains banked behind the
Vininese city. They came to a stop in a stony ravine, concealed
beneath a tangle of gigantic purple-leafed vines.
Dirrul's captors dismounted and removed their black cloaks, hiding
them among the rocks. Underneath they wore the warm gray skintight
workers' clothing of Vinin. The majority left their animals tethered
to the roots of the vine and began the steep descent on foot to the
city. Only three remained behind to guard the prisoners.
They built a small fire and prepared food, serving the hot sweet
chunks of white meat in large wicker baskets. As soon as Dirrul
discovered that he could stomach the food he wolfed his share
hungrily. The guards brought him more. He felt better. Except for the
sing-song ringing in his head he might have been able to think clearly
enough to evaluate his own position.
But that could be done later. He was overcome by an immense
drowsiness. He relaxed and slept.